Camping Trip
by Elanor
Summary: In which Ron and Draco are ruthlessly shoved into a muggle tent. Fun with glove puppets, voodoo dolls and tent pegs ensue. Completely random. Not dR.


**Camping Trip**

Draco Malfoy huffed. He was not pleased. Being foisted so ruthlessly into the current situation was not appreciated. He was in a tent. In the middle of a field. With Weasley. Correction; in the middle of a field thick with cow shit.

He was going to kill Granger.

"_Draco, you and Ron need to sort out your differences." _

"_He's poor, I'm not - we both know that. Sorted; you happy, Granger?"_

Well it appeared she wasn't, since they had ended up in said tent. Just charming, that Hermione Granger. Draco huffed again. Ron tutted and rolled over in his sleeping bag.

"Would you shut up? Some of us are trying to get to sleep here."

Draco glared at Ron in a Draco sort of way. "I don't give a flying fuck, Weasley, I'll huff if I want; I think the circumstance permits it."

Ron sat up in his sleeping bag and looked at Draco. "It could be worse, we could be standing outside treading in cow shit and staring at star constellations; if you think about it, it was rather good of Hermione to give us a tent."

"We shouldn't even be here in the first place, Weasley! It was not kind of Granger; if it wasn't for her I'd be in my own bed, asleep, and you'd probably be in some warm ditch with a stripper."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "A stripper? That opens up a whole world of possibilities."

Draco stared at him like he was insane. "What? You are _not_ having a Weasley wand party with _me_ in this close proximity."

Ron sat up and chuckled. "Was that humour I hear tickling my ears?"

"No, it's the fumes from the cow shit - I think they're damaging my brain."

"You _have_ a brain?" Ron asked innocently.

"That was one, of if not _the,_ crappest come back I've ever heard." Draco paused. "I'm bored, there's no decent conversation, good food," he grinned, "magazines."

"I've heard about your weird magazine stealing fetish thing. Hermione's right pissed off at you, you know."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I call myself subtle, she calls me a recycling bin. Charming that one, get rid of her rubbish and she repays me by spreading lies, and, and," Draco stopped, apparently at a loss for words, "and, and slander."

"Slander?" Ron asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Slander."

Ron paused, "That would make a good song title; _slander."_

"Song title? Oh God, is there nothing else to do in this bloody tent but talk to you?" Draco looked highly pissed off.

"I'm sure the cows would be grateful of your company, I hear it's mating season."

Draco paused in his effort of looking round the tent for something to do and shuddered. "Did Granger leave anything apart from the tent?" he asked, ignoring Ron's last comment.

"Er, yeah, she said something about a games bag to "keep us entertained." Ron began rooting around in his sleeping bag.

"And you tell me this _now_, when I'm already half dead with boredom?" Draco demanded furiously.

Ron shrugged. "It was fun watching the range of emotions cross your face; first irritation, then anger, then-"

"I get the picture, Weasley. What's in the bag?" Draco asked, as Ron drew open the top of a green drawstring bag.

Ron gasped in seeming delight and pulled out two finger puppets, one with a lot of brown hair, and one with black hair and green beads for eyes. Draco looked on in abject disgust. "This is what Potter and Granger do in their spare time? Get trigger happy with felt and glue?"

Ron however, tossed one to Draco and put one on his own finger. He put on a mock high voice and made felt-Hermione talk,

"I'm Hermione and I like books and Blaise; who I'm dying to shag." Ron roared with laughter as Draco watched him with an appalled look.

"What are you Weasley, five?" Draco had not touched his glove puppet Harry, who was still lying just in front of him. Draco shuddered. It was watching him.

"They're brilliant," Ron said gleefully.

Suddenly Draco's eyes lit up like a child with a bag of sweets. He grabbed glove puppet Harry and began to rummage around the side of the tent. Ron watched him opened mouthed, as he grabbed a tent peg from the ground and began attacking the Harry glove puppet.

"DIE POTTER, DIE!" he yelled, stabbing relentlessly.

Ron looked highly alarmed, "You say _I_ have problems? I think you need to sort out some of your issues, Malfoy."

Draco looked up, hair all in his eyes, which were alight with Satanism. He growled at Ron, before stabbing relentlessly once more, muttering odd words under his breath; "DIE," or "get the magazines." This continued for several minutes, by which time Ron had laid back down in his sleeping bag and gone to sleep.

And as dawn broke, any traveller wondering into that field would find cows humping, Ron snoring and a deposit of mangled felt and green beads outside a lone tent.


End file.
